The Boy in the Straitjacket

"What is your name?"

He grunted.

"I'm Peter, Peter Pan."

He whipped his head. Left, Right, Left.

You eyed him gingerly, as he dipped the tip of his arrow to a crushed dreamshade.

His fists were clenched, a growl ripping from his throat.

"What are you doing?"

His breath hitched against his throat, as he fought against the straints.

"We're playing a game."

"Sir..! Sir!" The boy opened his eyes to reveal an unknown woman, clad in her white uniform. She didn't appear concerned, rather she looked displeased at his loud thrashing. His eyes wandered to her tight grip against his shoulders, before they averted back to her eyes. He glared.

"Why the bloody hell are you touching me? Who are you!?" He violently writhed out of her grip, "Where have you taken me!?"

As he attempted to sit up, he noticed a strong force push him further down the mattress. It was then that he found himself unable to escape due to the straps over his chest, waist, upper thighs, and cuffs on his ankles. To top it all off, he had to bear wearing a very uncomfortable straitjacket.

"Sir, please remain calm. We're here to help you, so please cooperate with us and drink your medicine."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, "I'm not drinking anything.. and where the hell is (Y/N)?"

The woman shook her head, "Sir, it may have been your imagination, or due to the fact that you've been hallucinating from your lack of food. I want to keep this strictly professional, kindly drink your medicine so I can move on with my job."

His dark-ringed eyes narrowed, "'Hallucinating'? Bloody hell, are you implying that I've lost it?! Bullsh- where is (Y/N)?!"

He caught the evident irritation from the eyes of the woman, but he didn't allow such a pathetic reaction from her stop him. He tried to fight his way out of his restraints, the bed beginning to shake from his rough thrashing.

The woman rushed to him again, digging her long nails to his shoulder blades in hopes to settle him down. She even went as far as straddling him, her legs on either side of his waist. Professional my ass.

"Damn it, will you quit your goddamn thrashing?!"

He smirked, using the advantage to spit at her face. His eyes held no sign of regret, much to her disbelief and disgust. She wiped her face, muttering incoherent curses under her breath.

"Damn you.."

"Damn you, Pan."

His eyes widened, jaw slacking in surprise. He took the sight of the beautiful maiden before him, still managing to find her annoyed expression adorable.

You pouted at him, muttering a small 'I hate you'.

He only chuckled, shutting his eyes, wanting to enjoy the blissful moment. Only then was his little relief was broken, when he felt a sharp needle prick the side of his neck. He opened his eyes, now facing the older woman with the glint of triumph in her eyes. She mirrored the smirk he had from earlier.

He could've fought back, maybe a snarky comeback or another round of thrashing. Yet the only thing he could feel, was his strength draining from his body.

"I still find it cheesy, how you'd constantly remind people that you'll never fail."

He chuckled, pulling your body closer to him.

"Probably because I never have, and never will."

"But what if one day you do?" Your voice was hardly a whisper, "What if you lose me?"

His brows furrowed, hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

"Why would I lose my princess, when I've just found her?"

You smiled, leaning your forehead to touch his.

"I love you, Pan."

"...Pan."

"...Pan."

"Pan."

"Pan."

The said boy slightly shook, his eyes flickering upward to the man whom called him. He took the time to scan the new presence, settling his gaze on the name tag in front of him; Dr. Killian Jones.

"Pan, listen to me."

The boy sat motionless, only using a small ounce of energy to lift his stare, meeting the man's eyes.

"This.. place, Neverland is it? It is a myth. It exist only in your imagination.

The boys that dance around in the fire, they're just a fragment in your mind.

You're not a lost boy, you're merely a teenager with a wild imagination."

He wanted to punch him, he wanted to kick him, he wanted to pepper him with vulgar words that he know will fall smoothly from his mouth.

But he couldn't.

"The girl named (Y/N) doesn't exist, she's merely a maiden whom you created to satisfy yourself.

You never loved her, she never loved you."

Because he finally realized one thing.

He didn't need to fail.

He never won anyway.